


Mine

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 14:17:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is an omega in hiding, Sherlock is a reluctant alpha and Mycroft is a bastard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John paced the small grey cell, unable to relax. His time was coming and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. His self-medication had been halted. Mother Nature was taking over. 

He was about to go into heat for the first time in his life, and he was terrified.

From the age of 14 he had successfully derailed his omega biology, living on an experimental drug that suppressed his heats and disguised his scent. John had been living as a beta for years. Rather than being subject to an arranged bonding and forced breeding that would have ended his dreams of becoming a doctor, he’d completed his medical studies and was gearing up for specialist training—virtually unheard of for any of his kind.

It would have been very different had John’s parents not been killed in a car accident when he was 11. They had been quite sanguine about their two omega children and would have been content for him to live his life out as a breeder. Fortunately for John, he and his sister Harry had gone to live with his Great Uncle Mick after the funeral. As sad as they had been, the tragedy had changed their lives for the good.

His sympathy for his great-niece and nephew was owing to his own experiences: Michael Watson was an omega, too. In his day, though, omegas were bonded and bred immediately following their first heat. He had been only 14 when he was handed over to his alpha, David. 

The abuse started right after their first child was born. David had become increasingly paranoid, jealous, violent and cruel. Mick had managed to give birth to three more children before a particularly brutal beating had caused a miscarriage and subsequent hysterectomy. He’d still been a relatively young man when his husband was sent down. 

David had been killed inside: omega abuse rated only slightly above pedophilia in prison.

Mick had devoted himself to raising his children, studying at night while they slept. Once the kids were grown, he’d taken advantage of the freedom his non-breeding status afforded him. He’d gone to university and completed two degrees in chemistry before taking a job as a researcher with a pharmaceutical company. The work was interesting and—more importantly—it provided Mick with access to the information and materials he needed to complete his personal research.

The research that had given John the chance to choose a different life.

John could still remember the day his uncle had explained the birds and the bees to him and Harry. Mick had been kind and very patient, and he had done his best not to make them feel ashamed of what they were. After all, he’d told them, as much as he wished his own bonding could have been different, he loved his children and grandchildren and would not change that part of his life for the world. 

But he also knew, having built a life without the constraints of hormone cycles and the perpetual fear of attracting the attention of alphas (and betas, for that matter), that omegas could make other choices, too. And that is what he’d offered them. 

Harry, being older, was closer to her first heat than John was. Still, Mick had given her enough time to consider her options. In the end, she’d decided she was fine with breeding. However she was concerned about a forced bonding. Mick had assured her that he would protect her and give her time to choose her own mate. He’d helped her manage her heats and tutored her at home whenever it wasn’t safe for her to be out. 

This had raised some eyebrows in their conservative little community, particularly when Harry not only completed university but went on to graduate studies. Unbonded omegas of her age were very rare. 

Mick had not been bothered. He’d sparred verbally with the neighbours and shielded Harry as much as possible. He’d given her time to meet her Clara. He’d cried at their bonding ceremony.

But at 12 John had already decided he was not prepared to spend his life at the mercy of his body. Or anyone else’s for that matter.

“I thought that might be the case,” Mick had said with an indulgent smile. “You’re clever and you’re stubborn. And you want to see the world, just like my son George.”

John had been surprised at that. He’d always thought George was a beta. That was when Uncle Mick had explained about the treatment.

John began taking it before his first heat, effectively avoiding any public speculation about his gender. He had been living as a beta ever since.

And now…well, now he was 23 years old and sitting in a concrete holding cell in a government medical facility somewhere in Scotland. It contained one chair and one double bed. And shackles.

This, he had been told, was what happened to recalcitrant omegas and reluctant alphas. In as much as betas could breed, alphas and omegas were still the cornerstone of society and simply could not be allowed to circumvent nature.

He’d been outed in the most ridiculous possible fashion. Following a particularly nasty drinking binge at the end of their final exams, John had passed out at a mate’s flat. He and Roddy had managed to sleep for almost 24 hours, which meant that John had missed a dose. He’d been worried when he woke—Roddy was a beta, but even he would be able to pick up on the subtle change in scent.

Unfortunately worrying had come too late. He’d found Roddy standing outside his door with a strange expression on his face. He hadn’t made any threatening moves or said anything suggestive. Instead, Roddy had just inhaled deeply and smiled. That was when John panicked.

He didn’t remember much of what happened after that, but he knew it wasn’t good. John was not a large man, but he had taken it upon himself to develop physical strength and speed to make up for it. In his hormone-induced state, he’d broken Roddy’s nose and fractured a rib. Or so the Met informed when they came to collect him at Uncle Mick’s the next day.

John had managed to collect another two doses at Mick’s so he’d fended off symptoms for 12 hours. By then, though, the physical examination had revealed his status and effectively sealed his fate.

He’d been alone in the cell for almost three days. He’d been informed that—owing to the nature of his delayed puberty—he could expect to enter his first heat at any time. And that he would be bonded and bred immediately. It was long past due.

He sat on the edge of the bed, fighting the urge to scratch at his overly sensitive skin. The restlessness and the insistent pressure in his abdomen had been building for at least 8 hours. He was so warm it was all he could do not to remove the ugly grey tracksuit he had been issued. As a doctor, he knew exactly what was happening to him: the mucus plug leading to his uterus had softened and been expelled. His passage was beginning to secrete lubrication and his anus was loosening, preparing him for mating. 

John could feel the panic rising again—this could not be his life. He did not want to bear children, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be some macho prick’s fuck toy.

He started as the door opened and one of the beta nurses entered. She smiled at him, a little sympathetically he thought.

“Sorry, doctor, but it’s time.”

“Time for what?”

“You’ve been paired with an alpha. They’re bringing him here now.” 

“Who is he?”

“I shouldn’t—” she began. Then looking behind her quickly, she said, “He’s the youngest son of a very powerful family. He’s been here for two years for refusing to bond. He’s bright, but he’s a little odd. Says omegas are boring and he won’t be tied to an idiot.”

“Why me?”

“John, you’re a doctor. You’re clever and you’re strong-willed. You may be an omega, but you aren’t boring.”

John’s breath hitched in his throat. So this was really happening. His head drooped as he considered his future. At the very least, he supposed, he and his children would be well taken care of. 

The nurse stepped forward and held out a hospital gown. “Sorry, I have to take everything else.”

John’s cheeks blazed as he turned away and stripped out of the tracksuit. He knew his arse was leaking and he could feel the nurse staring. He pulled the hospital gown on and retreated to the far corner of the room. She collected the clothing from the floor and shot him another pitying glance. 

She stepped out, but the door did not close. Two of the orderlies appeared.

“NO!” John shouted, casting a fearful eye at the shackles on the wall.

He put up a fight—one of them would have a black eye come morning and the other would probably lose two teeth—but in the end he was beaten.

He wept into the rough bedclothes, lying facedown on the bed, his arms chained to the wall above his head, the hospital gown parted to expose the most sensitive part of his quivering body. 

It was unnecessary, he knew. Though he’d never experienced it himself, he was aware that once he was in the full throes of heat there would be no way he would be able to resist penetration anyway. He’d be begging for it. He supposed the chains were another part of his “re-training”—a tangible reminder of his status and the consequence of his attempts to beat the system.

The orderlies left and slammed the door behind them.

John could feel the tension building in his core; he had never been so aroused or so aware of his body. It was starting.

The feel of the bedclothes against his somewhat larger-than-average-omega cock became unbearable. He moaned into the mattress and began to grind against the blankets, welcoming the friction.

Distantly he was aware of scuffling in the hallway. The door opened again and there was considerable shouting. Someone was pushed into the room as the lights dimmed.

“I will NOT be forced to bond!” a deep, cultured young voice bellowed as the door closed again.

John was panting now; he could smell him. Alpha. Very potent. He moaned in spite of himself, the aching in his arse becoming so painful he could not remain still. He began to thrash on the bed, biting his lip to prevent himself from begging.

He could hear him moving. John turned his head to the side and could just make out a shape beside him. The new inmate had crouched down beside the bed. John inhaled deeply, unable to control the need to absorb the powerful alpha scent so close to him.

“Why did they have to do this to you?” the deep voice snarled.

John’s eyes were glazing over as lust began to overtake his rational mind. He wished he could see him. God he sounded so young. Was he even16?

“I’m 18,” the young man spoke again. John realized he must have spoken the question aloud. The young alpha seemed to be under remarkable control, considering the pheromones in the room. His movements were measured and his voice betrayed no evidence of his arousal. He was fighting it, but he wouldn’t be able to hold out for long. 

“I hate this,” he hissed. John could hear him retreating.

John moaned as another wave hit him, fluid was running freely between his legs now. His own cock was painfully hard and the burning in his rear passage was unbearable. He needed…he needed…

“Please,” he begged. “Oh, god, I need your cock in me. Please, please, please”

John hated the sound of his own voice, despised his weakness, but his body’s needs were overwhelming.

“Please fuck me. Please,” he sobbed.

“No!”

John jerked at the shackles on his wrists, irrationally attempting to release one hand to put something—anything—into his arse. The moaning had become a desperate keening now.

There was a growl. “I don’t want this. And I don’t want to do this to you. I—” John heard him inhale deeply, almost against his will. “Fuck you smell so—“

“I don’t want…can’t stop,” John groaned.

The young man moved swiftly to the bed near John’s head. “I can fix this,” he panted. “I’ll fuck you, take the edge off, but I won’t bite you and I won’t breed you. Trust me?”

John nodded, not even sure what he was agreeing to anymore as long as the torment stopped. A long-fingered hand smoothed the damp hair from his brow—a surprisingly tender touch from an alpha.

“I wish I could see you. I bet you are beautiful,” the young man said, allowing his hands to glide over John’s broad shoulders and back. “So strong.” He walked around to the end of the bed and climbed up behind John. 

“Yes, fuck me, please,” John begged again, his legs spreading wide. His passage was throbbing now.

John felt a warm mouth pressing wet kisses into the small of his back. A hand parted the globes of his arse gently and a finger eased past his swollen anus.

“God, yes!!!” John’s back arched and his bottom lifted off the bed toward the welcome intrusion. 

The young man didn’t waste time—he replaced one finger with two and proceeded to fuck John fast and hard with his fingers.

“More please!”

“I know what you want,” the deep voice assured him, the fingers suddenly disappearing. 

John could feel a long lean body stretching out over his back, the hard round head of the alpha’s cock pressed up against his entrance. “Fuck me, I need your cock.”

“Then that’s what you shall have,” the deep voice rumbled in his ear.

John howled as the huge member thrust home. His body instinctively clamped down around it, dragging against the friction, thrashing as the young man withdrew and sank back into his moist heat. 

John moaned as they quickly found a rhythm. They fit together so well, almost as though they’d been made for this. His knuckles were white where his hands gripped the chains at his arms. The slap of skin against skin, the wicked sucking noise of the cock sliding in and out of his saturated entrance. John knew he wouldn’t last long.

The young man was moaning now. “So hot, so fucking hot. So tight. You’re mine now. Mine.”

“Yes,” John agreed quickly as his alpha hit each and every one of his sensitive glands in turn. He was shaking with want; he was going to come soon.

“You’re going to come, aren’t you? I can feel you tightening up—fuck, yeah, just like that. You were made for this. You were made for me.”

John moaned his agreement. He was beyond rational thought now. His body began to tense as his orgasm started.

“Oh, god!” He could feel his own cock pulsing beneath him and his internal walls clenching around the hot hard prick in his arse.

The young man shouted and fell against his back, continuing to thrust. “Gotta stop now—I have to pull out before—fuck you smell so good—mine—mine—”

John was hardly aware of the soft warm mouth descending to his neck until he felt teeth. The young man was biting him; they were going to bond. His eyes were wide; he was shocked by the feeling but powerless to do anything other than bite his own lip and incline his head to allow his alpha a better angle to suck at the now-broken skin.

He could feel the young man tense immediately. The noise he made was almost unearthly. And he was gone. The warm cock had left John and he was bereft on the bed.

“NO!!! No, no, no!!!’ You fucking bastards!” The young man was pounding on the door now. “You will not make me breed—Mycroft, you son of a bitch! You cannot break me!!!”

John was in a haze. His own climax had taken some of the urgency away, but his vagina was still throbbing. His body wanted to be bred. He could feel the blood trickling from the bite mark on his neck. Somewhere, behind the incessant screaming of his body’s needs, his doctor’s mind was evaluating the bite. It was deep enough, and the young man had sucked long enough for his saliva to penetrate. John’s body was marked. He belonged to his alpha now.

John heard the door opening. There was a struggle and shouting and the sound of someone being dragged away.

The nurse appeared at John’s side; he opened one eye to look at her as she checked his neck. 

She turned to address someone behind them. “The bond is complete, sir.”

There was a sound of displeasure and frustration and then the click of hard-soled shoes retreating down the hall.

The nurse turned back to John. “Please,” he sobbed, the tension in his body had become unbearable.

“I’m so sorry,” she said sadly. She unlocked the shackles at his wrists and rubbed them for him as she rolled him over. John moaned as his arse rubbed against the bed. “It’s okay. I’ll give you something to sleep through it.”

John felt the injection, and then…nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John shuddered at the sound of the voice, a recognition triggering somewhere deep inside him. He studied the man before him, trying desperately to place him. 

He was sure they had never met. The man was younger, so they wouldn’t have been at uni together. Clearly, he wasn’t military material. John had not practiced medicine outside of the army, so he wouldn’t have been a patient. John glanced back at Stamford for some kind of clue. Stamford just grinned at him.

John evaluated his potential new flat mate. The man was tall, and thin—a little too thin, John thought—with sharp cheekbones, dark curly hair and piercing, luminous eyes. He was immaculately dressed in an expensive suit. An oddly attractive man. Well, odd full stop.

John listened, stunned, as the man rattled off the details of his life, seemingly from out of nowhere. It was the most incredible thing John had ever heard. He was still reeling from it when the tall man swept from the room with a wink. 

“The name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street.”

Later that night, John checked the sent messages on his phone: “If brother has green ladder, arrest brother.”

What was he getting himself into?

The next day, against his better judgment he showed up at the flat. As he walked around the small suite of rooms, he took the time to assess this Sherlock Holmes again. He was a bit of a nutter, really. Still he was a beta: as flat mates went, he was the least possible threat.

Not that he would know John was someone he could be a threat to. 

Following that fateful night at the rehab centre, John had been released. The official explanation was brief: he had been bonded, but his alpha refused to breed him. As long as he remained on his uncle’s serum, he would be allowed to make his way in the world as a beta. He could hardly believe it, but he was free.

John retreated to Mick’s for a fortnight before enlisting. It was a hasty and instinctive decision. He wasn’t going to allow himself to be that weak, not ever again. If he had to carry a gun for the rest of his life, no one would ever again make him feel so used and helpless.

He’d been careful in the service—he was listed officially as a special needs diabetic and his serum was labeled and transported as a unique insulin. After he had been shot, his RAMC mates had made sure his special “juice” was available and even shipped some on ahead to the hospital back home. At Selly Oak, Harry made sure it was correct and that he was receiving it on schedule.

They’d had a falling out, though, after his recovery. Harry had been taking a lot of abuse from people over being a non-breeder. She and Clara were not actively trying to prevent conception, but these things sometimes happened between a beta and an omega.

Harry hadn’t been handling the stress well and had started drinking—exactly as Sherlock had said. John and his sister had rowed and now he was alone in London and not at all sure where to go next.

At least he hadn’t been until yesterday.

Sherlock Holmes was without a doubt the strangest man he’d ever met, but John couldn’t help but feel comfortable with him. Not safe, but comfortable.

After they had tentatively agreed to share the flat, Sherlock had invited him to a crime scene to evaluate a murder victim. It was an unusual request, but somehow John was pleased his new flat mate trusted him so much.

He’d been pleased right up to the point where Sherlock abandoned him in Brixton. And right up to the point where Sherlock’s “arch enemy” had kidnapped him.

It had been a strange interview—John knew he was being assessed; he just couldn’t make out why. He could smell the alpha on the tall thin man in the three-piece suit, so was inclined to treat him with caution even if he hadn’t been asking very probing questions and revealing that he had access to John’s private medical files. 

A cold icy fear shot through John as the stranger read from his therapist’s notes. If he had that, what else did he know? John swallowed hard, adrenaline kicking in over the fear.

The man moved in and regarded him, taking John’s hand and commenting on his false PTSD diagnosis. John’s skin burned where the man touched him: he was dangerous.

The fear gnawed at John’s belly for the rest of the ride back to the flat. He hadn’t much time to reflect on it though. Sherlock insisted they text a serial killer (!) and go for dinner.

The restaurant was nice, and John was starting to enjoy it until the owner appeared.

“Anything for you and your date,” he said to Sherlock.

John attempted to correct him, but this resulted in an even more awkward conversation with Sherlock.

John found himself asking, “So do you have a girlfriend?” A reasonable question, as most betas tended to be straight.

“Girlfriend,” the deep voice replied. “No, not really my area.”

Something in John’s middle jumped at this. He squashed it ruthlessly. “Oh, right, boyfriend then? Which is fine, by the way.”

“I know it’s fine,” Sherlock snapped. John started. He’d touched a nerve. The strange eyes narrowed at him.

The rest of the conversation went downhill from there, with John attempting to reiterate that he was not actually asking Sherlock out.

But he had been thinking about it.

The adrenaline high from the foot chase that followed did nothing to ease his discomfort. John could not deny that he found Sherlock Holmes very attractive. Every time he spoke, Sherlock’s voice sent a shiver of anticipation down John’s spine that he could not control or understand. He’d never been so affected by a beta before.

He’d had his share of fleeting sexual encounters in the army—all women and all betas. He wasn’t prepared to risk an alpha and a male cut too close to home. But none of the encounters he’d had felt like this.

Sherlock got to him.

When Sherlock suddenly disappeared from the flat in the middle of the fake drugs bust, John was gripped by an unreasonable panic. As John followed the signal from the dead woman’s phone, he worked to control the fear that was blooming in his chest.

He couldn’t lose Sherlock, he just couldn’t. He’d only know him for two days, but John knew he would do anything for Sherlock. Anything at all.

He’d even kill for him.

As they giggled inappropriately leaving the crime scene, John was plagued by the desire to grasp Sherlock’s hand in his own. It just felt so natural. Fortunately, any such action was sidelined by the appearance of John’s erstwhile kidnapper.

John listened in amazement as he learned the identity of Sherlock’s archenemy: it was his older brother!

John was about to start laughing when the name seeped into his memory banks and found a hit: “You will not make me breed—Mycroft, you son of a bitch! You cannot break me!!!”

John’s breath left his body. His ears were ringing as he struggled to keep up with the conversation. Mycroft. Mycroft. The man at the rehab centre somehow connected to John’s alpha—the youngest son of a powerful family. Sherlock’s older brother.

John’s alpha. He turned to look at Sherlock with fresh eyes.

God, the age was right. The build was close—a little taller now, perhaps. The voice…

But Sherlock was a beta…at least John thought he was. And Sherlock thought he was, as well. 

Was it possible that Sherlock had found some means of getting around his biology the way John had? He was brilliant, no question. And if Uncle Mick could do it for omegas, there was no reason to suppose someone else couldn’t do it for alphas.

John broke into a cold sweat. He stared at Sherlock with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. How in the name of holy hell had he managed to find the one person in the whole fucking world he was trying to avoid?

He met Mycroft’s eyes as he turned to leave, his hand lifting unconsciously to the scar on his neck. Mycroft raised one eyebrow and smiled.

“God, no,” John whispered. 

“Dinner?” Sherlock’s voice made John jump out of his skin.

He followed Sherlock and tried remain calm. What the hell was he going to do?


	3. Chapter 3

“John!”

“Coming,” John muttered as he descended the stairs. He stomped into the kitchen and poured the tea, walking a mug over to where Sherlock sat at the desk. 

He set the mug down with a shaking hand. He had not been feeling himself, not since the pool.

Sherlock made some sort of noise of appreciation, but didn’t look up. John sighed and retreated to the sofa. He picked up his medical journal and tried to concentrate. 

They had both been quiet since their run-in with Moriarty a few days before. In truth, John had been avoiding Sherlock. They’d both been hanging around the flat, but John had kept to his room. With the rush of chemicals in his system when Sherlock pulled the semtex off him, John had nearly thrown himself into Sherlock’s arms. And by the strange look on Sherlock’s face, Sherlock would have let him.

Something in their relationship had shifted.

John knew he should have run, that first night he suspected that Sherlock was his long-lost alpha. But he hadn’t. 

Instead, he had settled into the flat, and settled into his role as Sherlock’s assistant, helper, colleague. They hadn’t worked out the right terminology yet, but the essence of it burned so brightly in John’s chest that he was sure everyone could see it: I am Sherlock’s omega!

John felt tied, hamstrung—surely there was nothing for him here unless he revealed himself. But then what? Sherlock had no more interest in breeding than he had. He’d fought just as hard to avoid being an alpha as John had being an omega.

And yet, and yet…

Against all odds, Sherlock had become his best friend. He made John laugh. He made everything exciting. He was fascinating and irritating and he made John feel like his life had meaning.

Sherlock was blissfully unaware, thank god. John had no doubt that he had deleted all memories of that night from his mind palace. John was a safe beta, nothing more.

The sad truth was that whatever this half-life they had was, it was what John wanted.

It was made clear during the Chinese smuggling case. John had used money as an excuse to take a job at a local surgery. He’d met a lovely woman there—Sarah. He felt an attraction to her, to the normal life he might potentially be able to have with her. He’d been resentful of Sherlock horning in on their dates, even as he relished every minute Sherlock was with him.

Then Sherlock had touched him. Standing in the dark, at the railway tracks looking for graffiti, Sherlock had taken John’s face in both his hands. John had almost leaned in and kissed him.

He knew he wouldn’t be dating again. 

John shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. “Sherlock, did you turn the heating up?”

“No.”

“Well, why is it so hot in here?”

“It isn’t,” Sherlock glanced up and regarded him with heavy-lidded eyes. “Take your jumper off if you’re hot.”

John muttered to himself. He stripped the jumper off, feeling a little queasy. Maybe it was something he’d eaten. He could feel an unwelcome tension coiling in his abdomen. God, what was that? It was almost like…John froze. 

No. It couldn’t be. Not now. He’d been so careful; he’d never missed a dose. He stood abruptly, preparing to retreat to his room.

“Ah, I think I’ll just—” 

He sniffed suddenly, his eyes wide. He could smell…

He looked up again to find Sherlock still staring at him. “You are not a beta.”

John swallowed hard, feeling the heat building in his body. Oh, god, he was already wet.

“Neither are you.”

Sherlock stood and slowly crossed the room to John. John started to back away toward the stairs.

“Sherlock, no—don’t—”

“I know that smell, John,” he growled, advancing as John retreated. “Everything else I managed to delete from that night except your scent.”

John turned to run, but Sherlock was faster. He caught John at the door, pinning the shorter man between his own body and the wall. John was panting now—the relentless hunger of his heat was about to consume him.

Sherlock leaned in and inhaled deeply. “Yes, that’s it. You are mine. You belong to me.” He tugged at the collar of John’s shirt to reveal the scar his teeth had left so many years before. “Mine.”

“Sherlock, please.”

“Please, what?” Sherlock rumbled into his ear. “Please fuck you? Please fill you with my cock? Oh, god, you are aching for it, aren’t you? You are ready to be plowed.”

John whimpered, the hard length of Sherlock’s cock was wedged between the cheeks of his aching arse. His passage was dripping now.

“You don’t want this, remember?”

“I didn’t, John, but I didn’t know you then,” Sherlock breathed into John’s neck. He slid one hand around and cupped John’s cock. “How could I have known you were not boring? How could I have known you would be the perfect mate?”

John’s knees began to buckle. “Oh god, I need…I need…”

“I know,” Sherlock soothed. He turned John in his arms and tugged him close, resting his chin on the top of John’s head. “I’ll take care of you. I wouldn’t trap you then, I won’t hurt you now. Trust me?”

John clung to Sherlock, nodding into his chest.

“Come on.”

Sherlock half led, half carried John down the hall to his bedroom. Once inside, he led John to the bed and closed the door firmly behind them. He closed the window as well—no sense torturing everyone else with a pheromone stew.

John had removed most of his own clothes and was reaching for Sherlock as he returned to the bed. He tugged at the buttons on Sherlock’s shirt with shaking fingers.

“Why don’t you let me do that?” Sherlock chuckled, quickly divesting himself of his clothes.

John was moaning now, staring hungrily at Sherlock’s body. “Sherlock, I –”

Sherlock edged in close, leaning down and covering John’s mouth with his own. It was a heated, filthy kiss, full of longing and need. Sherlock’s tongue took possession of John’s mouth as his hands took possession of John’s body. He teased at John’s nipples, fondled his cock and stroked the strong back.

“So much better now that I can see you.” 

He turned John gently. John understood and eagerly clambered up onto the bed on his stomach. He spread his legs wide, presenting his glistening wet hole to Sherlock.

“I was right,” Sherlock groaned. “You are beautiful.” He climbed onto the bed and knelt between John’s legs. He stroked through the dampness at John’s cleft and pressed one finger into the hot throbbing hole.

“Sherlock, yes, fuck me, please!”

“Yes, doctor,” Sherlock breathed, removing his hand and replacing it with his cock. He sank into John with a sigh and shudder. 

John almost wept—it was so perfect, so absolutely perfect. Nothing had ever been this good, nothing ever could be. Sherlock’s cock filled him completely. He rocked back against it, straining for friction against his aching insides.

“Greedy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, for you,” John groaned. He whimpered as Sherlock withdrew and sank deep into the sweet wet heat of his arse. Again and again, Sherlock dragged his cock against the sensitive glands in John’s passage. He picked up speed and found a punishing rhythm as the heat threatened to overtake both of them.

John was clawing at the bedclothes, moaning Sherlock’s name, unable to control the grinding urgency of his body’s needs. His own cock was leaking—he was going to come soon.

Sherlock began to moan and John knew he was close. John felt the tension in his own body begin to release.

“Sherlock, I’m coming—fuck—don’t stop—“

“Come for me, John,” Sherlock urged. “Let go.” John moaned long and loud as he found his release, spilling into the duvet beneath them. 

A few more balls-deep thrusts and Sherlock stilled, the knot on his cock starting to swell.

“In or out, John? Hurry—” 

“In, oh god, Sherlock fill me up…”

Sherlock groaned, popping the rising knot past John’s sphincter as it locked them together. He wrapped both arms tightly around his lover, pressing kisses into the back of his neck. He rocked with the first spasm and moaned as he spilled his first orgasm inside John’s waiting body.

Holding John fast, Sherlock rolled them to their side, stroking John’s chest and belly and fondling his cock as his body continued to pulse life into his omega. He murmured nonsense into John’s ear: embarrassing, possessive, macho things he would never have said, could not imagine saying, while not under the influence of hormones.

When the knot finally released and they lay side by side, panting, Sherlock finally had a moment of clarity.

“I’ll fucking kill him.”

“Who?”

“John, how have you been able to live this long as a beta?”

“Hormone suppressant from my uncle. You?”

“Something similar of my own design,” Sherlock mused, nuzzling at the back of John’s head. “How is that both suppressants failed so completely at exactly the same time? And how is it that you ended up here anyway? How did we manage to find each other again after all these years? Out of all the people in the world, how did you end up here, living in my flat?”

“Mycroft?”

“That fucking bastard. I’ll kill him.”

“It’s not—I knew…”

“Knew what?”

“I recognized Mycroft’s name. After the cabbie—you said his name. I’d heard you say it the night we were bonded.”

Sherlock was very quiet. “Why did you stay?”

John turned in Sherlock’s arms. “Please don’t hate me. I couldn’t leave. I knew I should. I’d been free for so long, it terrified me—the prospect of being bound to you and to our children. I wasn’t ready to tell you who I was, but I couldn’t leave you. I…I fell in love with you.”

Sherlock released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “You won’t hate me if we—if you are…”

John shook his head. “I want to be here. I don’t want anyone or anything else.”

Sherlock gathered John into his chest with a sigh. “I suppose I have to give Mycroft credit for choosing you for me in the first place. You are perfect, John Watson,” his voice was deep and full of emotion he never expressed. There was a long pause as he considered their situation. “Perhaps, given his incessant meddling, Mycroft could be prevailed upon to provide childcare.”

“Child care?” John sounded surprised. “You would still want me to work with you?”

“I will always want you with me.”

John ran his hands over Sherlock’s chest, teasing his nipples erect. He could feel the need clawing back to the surface, his vagina beginning to throb. “Sherlock…”

Sherlock kissed John hard, before rolling him back over. “Mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Mea culpa--first fanfic ever. Obviously I don't really know anything about the omegaverse and I don't have a britpicker or a beta. Forgive!


End file.
